


Playback

by bluecrownedmotmot



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecrownedmotmot/pseuds/bluecrownedmotmot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post pacifist ending. When he must make a guest appearance on live television, Mettaton brings along his favorite assistant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playback

Out of the corner of his synthetic eye, Mettaton watched the end of Burgerpants' tail switch back and forth. It was the only part of Burgerpants that he could see beyond the edge of the dressing room counter.

Mettaton caught it and gave it a tug.

Burgerpants yowled. “Can't you mind your own business?!”

The robot snickered and let the tail slide through his fingers. He was sitting with his arms leaning on the counter, in full costume and makeup. “I'm just bored. I'm sorry, darling.”

“Could you try to act normal when my boyfriend arrives?”

“How perfectly _tedious_ ,” Mettaton drawled. “But yes, yes, of course. I'll be on stage in a moment anyway. If Shyren manages to get her hair styled some time this year.”

“Give her a break. She doesn't have hands. That's got to be a little challenging.”

“Indeed,” agreed Mettaton. He looked at the back of his own hands admiringly. He'd had enough time to affix gold false fingernails onto the ends of his fingers. This addition to his overall adornment pleased him greatly and he knew, just looking at them, that it was his destiny to give a flawless performance tonight. “I hope she takes forever. I want to be introduced to your boyfriend. He's so friendly looking. What a cutie.”

“You stay away from him,” threatened Burgerpants.

“Don't worry. _You_ have more appeal to _me_ , kitten.”

“Wow. You sure know how to be reassuring. I am so at ease right now.”

“I do so appreciate your sarcasm before I go on stage. It gives me such energy.”

“I save it up just for you, _boss_.”

“I was under the impression that you had an abundant supply.”

There was a knock. Mettaton hopped to his feet. He smoothed the jacket he was wearing, pranced across the room, and opened the door.

There was a tall, rabbit-like person in the corridor. “Hi there!” the monster said cheerfully.

“Hullo, darling. I remember you. I'm Mettaton,” said the robot. He squeezed Nice Cream guy's hand briefly. “I'm sorry, I never learned your name.”

“It's-” began Nice Cream guy brightly.

The three monsters heard Shyren shriek Mettaton's name at the top of her lungs. The scream carried from somewhere out the door and down the hallway.

Mettaton sighed. He placed a hand on the rabbit's shoulder and ushered him into the dressing room. “We'll talk later. You must be looking for my assistant. He's down there.” Mettaton gestured with a flick of his wrist. “Back in a flash.”

 

Once Mettaton had passed him in a shimmer of gold lamé, Nice Cream guy, puzzled, searched the small room.

“Under here,” said Burgerpants, wearily.

“Where?”

“Here.”

Nice Cream guy peered under the counter. All he could see was his boyfriend's backside. “Burgy, why in the world are you down there?”

“I'll be done in a moment and I'll explain.”

“I take it there's a show tonight? I was afraid security wouldn't let me in!”

“They had your name.”

“They did and here I am! So strange to hear the crowd from back here.”

“It'll get a whole lot louder if they don't start soon. They're late.”

“I can't believe I touched your boss' hand!”

“Oh, please,” grumbled Burgerpants. “It's a severely overrated experience.”

“Okay!” said Mettaton, crashing back into the cluttered dressing room. “Crisis averted. She dropped a bobby pin and needed someone with fingers to pick it up. Oooh, I see you found him. What a _diligent_ worker he is, hmm? Couldn't even come out to greet his adorable significant other, I see.” He crossed the room while he spoke, ending his speech by poking Burgerpants with the toe of his boot.

“I'm almost done,” snapped Burgerpants.

“My dear,” said Mettaton warmly to Nice Cream guy, “You have yourself a great boyfriend.”

“I know that,” said the rabbit with a smile.

“Why can't my boss ever compliment me to my face?” complained Burgerpants.

“Are you done scrubbing my floor with that toothbrush?” wondered Mettaton.

Nice Cream guy giggled, thinking Mettaton was kidding.

Burgerpants emerged from beneath the counter with a toothbrush, looking peeved.

Nice Cream guy giggled harder.

“I'm glad my humiliation is the source of literally everyone's amusement around here,” said Burgerpants dryly.

“As are we all, love, as are we all,” said Mettaton. Napstablook knocked tentatively on the doorframe and Mettaton stepped outside to exchange a few words with them.

“Your boss is silly, Burgy.”

“I'm hilarious,” called Mettaton happily from hallway.

“Yeah, he's a trip. What a joker, that guy,” said Burgerpants through gritted teeth.

“So are you done with, uh, that?”

“The asshole somehow spilled an obscene amount of glitter glue and it stuck to the floor down there. The owners of this place would kill us if they saw it,” explained Burgerpants. “But yes. I'm done.”

“What's he doing with glitter glue?”

“When he responds to fan mail, he beautifies it.”

“That's so sweet.”

Burgerpants just sighed and threw the toothbrush in the trash. “Are you ready?”

“You look like you've had a hard day,” said Nice Cream guy, pulling his boyfriend to him.

Burgerpants put his arms around the bunny. He rested his head against Nice Cream Guy's shoulder.

“Get a room,” suggested Mettaton good naturedly, suddenly passing close behind Burgerpants. Burgerpants' fur stood on end. Apparently Mettaton's conversation with Napstablook had been extremely short. The robot sat in his chair. “I hate to kick both you out and all, but... I'm kicking you out. That was my five minute call. Why don't you two run along?” To Nice Cream guy he said: “If you'd be so kind, my dear, put my favorite assistant to bed early. He's accompanying me to a television appearance tomorrow.”

“I'm not really responsible for when he gets to bed,” laughed Nice Cream guy.

“I'm your _only_ assistant,” corrected Burgerpants, rolling his eyes.

Mettaton stared from one to the other. “Oh god. You're both irritatingly literal. You're perfect for each other. Get out of here.”

 

***

 

“I like him,” said Mettaton, the next day.

“Well, it just so happens I do too,” replied Burgerpants.

“So he calls you _Burgy_?” said Mettaton, with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“Seems I am surrounded by people who have strong feelings about what my name should be,” rejoined Burgerpants. He slouched down in his seat, glancing out the window at clouds hanging below their current cruising altitude.

“Hmm. You don't like your given name, do you?” asked Mettaton, stretching out his legs on the lounge chair across the aisle. They could spread out, as they were the only passengers on the private jet.

“Honestly, not really,” admitted Burgerpants.

“I like your actual name, darling. But 'Burgerpants' is just so _delightful_. You'll always be Burgerpants to me.”

Burgerpants sighed.

Mettaton laughed. Then he remembered something. “Oh, darling, while we're on the subject. What _is_ your boyfriend's name?”

“It's-”

The jet hit moderate turbulence, interrupting Burgerpants.

Mettaton stumbled hastily into the chair across from his assistant. He sat down and curled up, pulling the magazine for teenage girls he'd been holding close to his face. Burgerpants clutched the armrests of the chair he was already in and shut his eyes.

 

Neither monster wanted to admit they were terrified of flying.

 

When the ride eventually evened out, Mettaton changed his position to a more comfortable sprawl and furrowed his brow over the page he was on. “If you were stuck on a desert island and had some means of playing music while there, which three albums would you bring?”

Burgerpants opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Your album, your album, and your album,” he replied automatically.

Mettaton blinked at him over the page. He bit his lip. “What a suck up.”

 

***

 

The set was quite busy, even before the audience was in place. Burgerpants and Mettaton sat next to each other in the seats, watching humans scurry to and fro.

“I have to admit, I don't really want to do this appearance,” said Mettaton suddenly. “But timing coincides so well with the release of the single and the opening of the new show.”

“Thought you liked being seen?” replied Burgerpants. “I mean, I know you hate stupid stuff, but come on. You get to talk about yourself at length in front of a large audience and that's like your favorite activity.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I do all the press because Blooky and Shyren really can't handle it. But... I wish I didn't have to either. However, if you're being strategic, you must from time to time.” Mettaton sighed. “You've never been with me to one of these things, have you? Blooky usually comes to support me.” He stared at the chair on-set he'd soon be sitting in. “You'll see,” he said dully.

 

Mettaton pointed out things here and there to Burgerpants until the producer found them. They stood, and the pop star introduced his assistant, making a point to mention that Burgerpants wanted to be an actor. Burgerpants shook the human's hand as the producer said he hoped someday that they'd have the pleasure of interviewing Burgerpants when Burgerpants was a big star. Then the conversation turned to the specifics of the broadcast. Mettaton and the producer seemed to be attempting to outdo one another on being charming and enthusiastic. Burgerpants started to tune out the conversation. There really was a limit to the amount of ass-kissing one could tolerate.

 

Suddenly, a change in the charge of the atmosphere brought the words into intelligibility again.

“You see, we don't want any unpredictability-”

“Unpredictability,” echoed Mettaton.

 

His boss' voice was expressionless, yet Burgerpants knew, intuitively, that Mettaton was hurt. There was nothing in the robot's posture or tone of voice to indicate it. But he knew it.

 

“Yes, you see-”

“I'm sure my agent was clear about this. And, darling, I seem to recall personally discussing this on the phone with you. Weeks ago. I believe we reached an agreement. I'm going to sing.”

 

It was laughable. Burgerpants was probably the worst at reading Mettaton at the best of times. Maybe it was one of those things when you spent so much time with another person you could sense what the other person was going to say before they said it. He certainly spent a lot of time with his employer, although in the course of a normal work day, they didn't acknowledge each other much. Mettaton would usually delegate tasks and then expect Burgerpants to leave him alone. Burgerpants had, somewhere along the line, discovered that Mettaton only micromanaged when what he was really after was attention.

 

“It's customary to lip sync for reasons of-”

“I don't lip sync to playback for a supposedly live performances. I simply must insist upon singing, to the backing track.”

 

Maybe that was it though. Getting better at anticipating Mettaton's reactions, understanding his quirks. Maybe even from the start, he had seen a side to Mettaton no-one else had. The flawed side. The part that was inconsiderate and ostentatious and stubborn. Then, over time, other things had tempered his view.

 

“As you know, today's audiences expect perfection. I'm quite sorry, Mettaton. We can't accommodate that request. ”

“That's unfortunate,” said Mettaton. “I was looking forward to working with you. Thank you for extending the opportunity.” Mettaton touched Burgerpants' elbow lightly, waking Burgerpants from his reverie. They both turned to leave.

“Now hold on,” the producer said quickly. “You know, for you... I'm sure we could arrange...”

“Fabulous,” said Mettaton, abruptly all smiles again, pivoting back on his heel. “Then we're on.”

 

***

 

Burgerpants waited patiently off-set, out of the way, for the show to start. When Mettaton came out, he looked so stunning and animated that it impressed even Burgerpants. With every small movement and expression exaggerated, the star seemed more alive than mere non-famous, non-robotic mortals.

Mettaton sat in the comfortable chair next to the host, the buckles on his black jacket jingling. He leaned forward, interested in what the host was saying. She leaned in toward him. The intensity was palpable. Until they went to break, and everything cooled.

Humans ran around quickly dusting the set. The host had her face repowdered. Mettaton held up better under lighting, so he waited patiently, expression masklike as he watched the host with curiosity.

Or maybe it was restrained animosity, Burgerpants realized.

The host paid absolutely no attention to Mettaton when there was no need to do so. She spoke with the crew, but for whatever reason, ignored her guest. Mettaton moved elegantly while the cameras were rolling, but during this break, he tensely played with his silver onyx bracelets and jiggled his leg.

A young woman with a duster was a fan, and she cautiously asked the robot a question when she got close to him. Mettaton appeared relieved to have a reason to give someone a genuine grin. As she brushed off his clothing, he graciously wrote her a note and autograph in the notebook she handed him. Someone off-set snapped at the woman and she thanked Mettaton, running off with the notebook tucked under her arm.

 

The show started again and the chemistry returned. Mettaton and the host stared into each others' eyes. Both were spontaneously witty and flirtatious, both were completely relaxed once more. The live audience didn't care that the illusion dropped during commercials. Half were excited to be on television, and the other half were actors. They offered to send someone home to put Burgerpants in a seat, but Burgerpants wasn't feeling it.

 

The interview ended, and Mettaton disappeared behind the set somewhere. They went to a break again. Mettaton would now be preparing to come out to perform.

 

 _Was Mettaton like that, when he used to host shows?_ wondered Burgerpants. _He had had near total media dominance Underground. Probably could easily have gotten away with being that cold._

But it seemed unlikely, even to Burgerpants. The robot could be self-centered, but he was caring. That part was never an act.

 

After the audience was prepped, and they were live once more, the pop star strolled out onto the stage part of the set. As he hit his mark, he twisted his lips. It occurred to Burgerpants that Mettaton was angry and was making little attempt to conceal it.

 _What happened?_ Burgerpants mused.

The song began, and Mettaton seemed to give full focus over to singing. It looked like all was well, other than Mettaton's agitation. It sounded right. Well, no. Not quite. Mettaton, singing, made eye contact with Burgerpants off-set and shook his head. He'd usually never do such a thing while performing. Something was definitely...

And then, Mettaton smirked into the camera in front of him and shut his mouth decisively. His own vocal part sailed on without him.

 _Huh_ , thought Burgerpants.

Mettaton tilted his head in mock puzzlement, listening to his undiminished voice. He raised his arms slowly and then turned, landing gracefully after three rotations before dropping into a pose on the floor.

 _So they made him lip sync after all. And he's turning it into a dance solo_.

Mettaton was all smiles now as he improvised. The audience was enthusiastic. They didn't seem to care about the change in plan whatsoever. Mettaton pulled out every flashy thing he practiced but couldn't ever do while singing. He nailed a rather impressive aerial and one camera dollied out perfectly to capture the full arc of his legs through the air.

Mettaton kept his lips shut for the rest of the song.

At last, the music ended and he struck a final pose. He grinned, bowed to the audience, waved to the cameras, and skipped backstage.

Burgerpants had to laugh.

 

It was a matter of seconds before Mettaton, coat and bag slapdash over an arm, breezed past his assistant.

“We are in so much trouble; let's go,” said Mettaton cheerily, walking at such a clip that Burgerpants had to jog to keep up.

Someone yelled something about a check behind them.

“Mail it, motherfucker!” Mettaton sang blissfully as they sailed out the studio door.

 

Mettaton didn't say much in the car, but when Burgerpants looked back at him, he looked his usual self.

But perhaps he had too much time to think during the ride. At some point toward the end of the trip, Mettaton's mood gradually began to turn.

They arrived at the airport and dropped off the car. Mettaton pranced hurriedly through the small airport, hidden behind sunglasses and the turned up collar of his coat. Burgerpants strolled along after him, struggling to keep up with his boss when he got too far ahead. When they got to the tarmac, the robot climbed aboard the jet with haste, eager to leave.

 

In the cabin, Mettaton took off the coat and sunglasses and threw them on a seat. He fell down onto the lounge.

“I hate everyone,” breathed Mettaton.

“I know the feeling,” said Burgerpants, settling into his usual seat.

Mettaton didn't seem to want to continue the conversation any further, so Burgerpants studied the script he had brought with him as they taxied and took off.

Whenever Burgerpants looked up from the monologue he was attempting to memorize, Mettaton looked no different than he had initially. At some point, Mettaton got up and wandered away. Burgerpants didn't pay a huge amount of attention until turbulence rocked the plane.

 

He looked up and glanced around anxiously, he but couldn't find his boss. He wondered if Mettaton was admiring himself in the bathroom mirror, but he wasn't there. There weren't many places one could be. Perhaps he was in the cockpit? He could very well be chatting up the pilot.

 

But when Burgerpants passed the nook with a chair and table on his way there, he noticed the robot curled up small on the floor, underneath the table.

“Mettaton.”

“I don't feel well,” replied the robot.

Burgerpants sighed and got down on the floor. “Yeah. I know I frequently lodge myself into the small spaces on aircraft when I don't feel well.”

“Leave me alone,” said Mettaton.

“Why are you mad at me?”

“I'm not mad at you. I guess I'm mad at myself.”

“What for?”

“Why did I do that?” Mettaton spat.

“Back there? But that was alpha as fuck. You stood up for yourself.”

“And I did it just to spite them. I let my emotions get the best of me. I have no self control. Doing something like that just makes me look bad.”

“Yeah, you've like never had self control. Who cares? You're rich and famous.”

“You don't get it at all. All of my power is fake. It won't last unless I make it last.” Mettaton buried his face into the carpet for a moment, and then turned his head so he could continue. “Everything depends on my behavior. It's not just me. It's Blooky, it's Shyren, it's you, it's my fans. I have to pretend all the time to maintain this whole thing. And back there, I forgot that.”

Burgerpants shook his head. “Boss. Maybe that show blackballs you, but does it matter?”

“Maybe not. Probably not.” This seemed to sink in for a moment in Mettaton's mind. But then he tensed, clenching his gloved hands into fists. “Would it have killed those people to have respected me? Believe it or not, darling, I don't want to be famous up here on appearances alone. That's all it would be if I didn't perform. I care about this. It was our dream to do this.”

Mettaton uncurled himself. Burgerpants backed up to give him space. Mettaton crawled toward him, caught up in the torrent of thoughts coming into his mind. “I don't want it to fade away. The sense of being important and understood and remembered... I need it. I feel connection with everyone in the crowd sometimes, like what I'm doing makes a difference. I don't feel that very often. Maybe on rare occasions with my friends, or with the one person I'm having sex with, or with myself when I've done enough blow.” Mettaton grabbed Burgerpants by his lapels, twisting his jacket, pulling up. “ _But I can't keep that feeling inside of me no matter how hard I try to hold on to it._ Do you understand what that's like? _Do you?_ ”

Burgerpants swallowed. This was exactly the kind of wild intensity in Mettaton that he found terrifying because he just could not fathom just what was wrong. He liked Mettaton, in spite of, or because of, everything. But there was no way he could fix this.

“Boss,” he murmured. The seams of the jacket's arms stopped digging into Burgerpants as Mettaton relinquished his grip.

Mettaton melted back onto the floor. “No one gives a shit about me.”

“Do you let people get to know you?”

“I can't,” Mettaton choked out. “And there's nothing there.”

“You're full of crap.” Burgerpants shook his shoulders, to get his clothing to feel relatively comfortable again. “And by the way, _I_ give a shit about you, you dumbass.”

Mettaton raised his head. “You... Do?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“ _You_ care about me, don't you?”

Mettaton put a hand over his face.

“You do. You know, I appreciate you. As much as we give each other a hard time. I would have left a long time ago if I didn't.”

“You don't know anything about me,” said Mettaton bitterly.

This was so unbelievably absurd to Burgerpants that he couldn't even think of a retort for a moment. He looked at Mettaton blankly. He furrowed his brow. “Who the fuck are you again? Your name is Metatron, right? Can I have your autograph?”

“Oh my god,” said Mettaton, trying not to smile.

“Wait. You like pink? You're a girl right?”

“I'm trying to feel sorry for myself here. You're ruining it,” Mettaton howled.

“I just love your dial. Robots always have such beautiful dials. Can I touch your dial?”

“Aaaaaaaah!” Mettaton screamed into a nearby pillow. It turned into muffled laughter.

Burgerpants pretended to be a thoughtless fan for a while more until he ran out of ideas. But by that time, Mettaton had relaxed. They got up off the floor and returned to seats. Every so often, Burgerpants made a remark or asked Mettaton something, to ensure his boss was still fine.

 

Eventually Burgerpants picked up his phone. Mettaton flipped through his magazine.

“Hey. Mettaton.” Burgerpants was staring intently at his phone.

“Yeah.”

“Someone uploaded your performance already. It's been up for... Twenty minutes... And it has, uh, almost half a million views.”

“What?”

“I'm not joking. Look at how many people like it. They think it's hilarious. They think it's great that you exposed how fake-”

“Give me that.” Mettaton got up from the lounge to take the phone. He scrolled through the comments and sighed with satisfaction. “Well, I'm glad something good came of this.” He sat across from Burgerpants.

“I thought you were supposed to not care what other people thought?”

“You're not,” Mettaton leaned back and continued to scroll through the comments. “I'm a miserable failure.”

“That's my phone,” Burgerpants groused.

“Did I hear something? Must have been my imagination.”

“You're intolerable.”

Mettaton stared through his lashes at Burgerpants. “Say what you must. Now I know you _care_ about me, so...”

“You get to do whatever you want without guilt?”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Little buddy,” said Mettaton, pretending to be Burgerpants. He mimed taking a toke for good measure, in case it wasn't abundantly clear. “ _Never_ let hot people think you care. That's how they GET you.”

Burgerpants grinned. “ _Obviously._ ”

 

***

 

As soon as they were back at Mt. Ebott's airport, Burgerpants called his boyfriend.

“So how did it go?” asked Nice Cream guy.

“Fine. My boss pulled a stunt that might make it to some late night shows. And then he freaked out while we were in the air. But it's fine.”

“Oh. He's okay now?”

“As okay as he ever was, I guess.”

“I'll see you later?”

“You bet.”

Burgerpants poked his phone, hanging up. Once again, Mettaton had been walking ahead of him through the airport. But the robot slowed so that the two monsters would be side by side.

“So. Before I forget. Bun buns. What is his name?”

Burgerpants took a deep breath. He was slightly winded from trying to talk to Nice Cream guy and not lose Mettaton. “It's-” he began, expecting the interruption that reliably arrived, in the form of a couple of fans recognizing Mettaton as they passed.

A familiar couple of fans.

Burgerpants darted past. He didn't feel like dealing with these two... Mettaton could find him at the car.

Fortunately, the two fans were starstruck. They hadn't even registered Burgerpants' presence.

“Woooow, are you Mettaton?” said the purple-furred feline.

“Um, _duh_ , Catty,” said the alligator, setting down the luggage she was carrying. “You know what he looks like; we like totally camped out behind his resort-”

“Uhhh, noooo, we didn't. We like definitely did not do such a thing, Bratty.”

“Ohhh, right. We definitely didn't do that, my mistake. We just, like, passed by there. A lot. Every day. In a totally legal and non-creepy way.”

“You're totally our favorite!”

“ _Totally._ ”

“Oh my god, we just saw you on a talk show. That was soooo amazing.”

“Wicked amazing.”

Mettaton stopped. He smiled.

“Oh?” The robot slid his sunglasses down his nose and looked from one to the other. Flattery was just what he needed right now. “Tell me more,” he purred.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Make a motmot really happy: http://motmotfluttersforth.tumblr.com/
> 
> 8 September 2016 - Thanks again, Ms. Mallow, for finding typos!


End file.
